The 3rd Annual Hawaii Pseudo-nami!

My TV is broken again.  I shall write!

Every time I go to my apartment building’s elevator, I look over to the building across the street.  Nice big windows into big apartments – great for bored voyeurism.  There are a few really nice looking units in what otherwise looks like a pretty crap place, but there’s one that sits on the end that looks like an audition setting for the show “Hoarders.”  Stacks of newspapers, Tupperware containers containing god-knows-what, and mountains of just trash.  It creeps out several feet from the wall and frames a tiny tube television that I think is always on the news or a Korean drama.  At first I thought porn, but I’m pretty good at picking out blurry boobs at a distance.  I come from the era of “scrambled adult channels” on basic cable TV.

I wonder what he would have done if the tsunami had actually hit?

Actually, both our buildings are outside of the inundation zones, but it still makes me wonder: when your prized possessions are all basically trash, do you still get sad if they’re all ruined?

Come to think of it, I have a lot of unnecessary shit in my apartment.  I wonder if anyone looks over here from the building across the other street and wonders why I can’t pick up my fucking clothes from the couch.  THEY LOOK GOOD THERE, ASSHOLE.  Nah, I’m just lazy.  One more thing I should really fix.  Probably the same thing the Hoarder thinks, actually.

So Hawaii had its semi-annual Pseudo-nami this past Saturday.  First, don’t get me wrong, I LOVE that it was a pseudo-nami.  If a real one hits, I’m sure it will suck beyond measure, so I knock on wood and do any other kind of superstitious dance to be thankful these past 3 in as many years have been minor.  Second, I confess to a small thrill when these things happen because it means my tiny little position as a radio announcer will finally benefit the community and not just my own narcissistic love of talking.  I feel prepared in the studio at these times because it gives me an excuse to not feel powerless, maybe I help someone, and maybe I take advantage of a greater water supply and generator power than anything I have at my apartment.  Also, after marathon live with no air conditioning during a potential disaster, you’re allowed to be a little ripe.  Breath deep my momentary self-worth!  It is a manly musk.

When word of the Tsunami Warning reached me, my coworker and friend O-Dogg and I were about to start the Hallowbaloo Costume Contest.  This is part of an annual street festival and is usually a lot of fun.  Cool costumes, hot women, beer in the streets – a good time for all.  In fact, I even understood a bit of Brony culture when two My Little Pony girls walked by in barely-there outfits based on the cartoon and holding drinks.  Giddy-up.  The police officer on-hand was finding out what the call would be when it was time for us to hit the stage.  Just as I was about to start intro-ing the contest, he shines a light in my eye and says that everyone needed to evacuate.  I crack the mic to the be the bearer of bad news and when I tell them they have to go because a tsunami will hit us in two and a half hours, they all just look drunkenly dumfounded at me.  Have you ever had everyone tell you you’re crazy and you start to think “damn, maybe I fucked up. Maybe I AM crazy!”? Looking at all of them, I wondered for a split second if this was the most elaborate prank I’ve ever witness.  No.  Get home, everyone.  Get safe.  As everyone started to move out, two girls waited behind and gave me the Hairy Eyeball.

“So we don’t even get the fucking costume contest?”  She stomps on my last nerve.

“No, you get to go home and live.”  I didn’t realize my mic was still on.

“What about our fucking entrance fee money?”  Priorities?  Check.

“I don’t know, you’ll have to ask at the Information Booth.  Just please be safe.”  This time trying to salvage my reputation.

Afterwards, we make our way to the studio for a long night of updates, stopping off at 7-Eleven for supplies.  Supplies being a pack of beef jerky and two granola bars as the only things I could grab before the mass of half-naked ravers bought it all.  Note to self: put “half-naked ravers” into a Google Image search.

Another silver lining to bad situations like that is watching and listening to the news.  This happened in a prime point at night where everyone has settled into some form of entertainment.  There were a lot of parties canceled and you can safely bet that some of the news staff of online, print, radio, and TV were at these parties.  Suddenly the call goes out to be on the job and you have several people barely holding on to the brittle mask of professionalism that will hide that they’re three sheets to the wind.  I won’t name names, but if you saw the news casts on all of the local stations, I’m sure you have your theories.  I could swear to you that one of the anchors on a local station was constantly on the verge of yelling “BULLSHIT!” at every vague answer and total shit-wit milling about the beach and going for a Darwin Award.  Add into that, that after so long on the air live anyone would get a little punch-drunk, and you have some golden moments if you know what to look for.

In the end, thankfully, nothing happened that was too major.  I am even more thankful now as I see friends on the East Coast posting the pictures of damage being caused by HurricaneSandy.  All the best to friends, family, and really everyone affected by the storm.

OK, so as not to end on a down note, here’s a picture of the type of puppy I’ve always wanted: An English Bulldog!

When it grows up, I would give it a tiny bowler hat. Because of awesomeness.

The next of many,

Haz-Matt

P.S.  Don’t type “half-naked ravers” into a Google Image search.  It’s mad disappointing.

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